Legacy: Life Skills

By Nick Evangelista

I’m not in fencing for the money. If I wanted to get rich I’d have become a plumber. Fencing, then, has a deeper meaning to me. I should say that I am talking about traditional rather than anythingforatouch fencing. Fencing, as an intricate skill to be mastered, has fascinated me for over forty years. This goes beyond the one-on-one competitive thing, encompassing all the personal skills that must be developed and honed to adequately function in a setting that does its best to represent a “what if these were sharp?” fencing approach. (Anyone who knows me understands I am not including manipulating an electric scoring box or intimidating a director through extraordinary histrionics as part of my use of the term “fencing.”)

We can start with becoming adept at the physical side of fencing. This is our first challenge. This means replacing everyday people reactions with distinct fencer responses. Fencing is a foreign system of behavior to our nervous system, and must be mastered and internalized.  Within the realm of the physical we must also develop endurance and pacing. But countless fencers never get beyond simple, knee-jerk reflexes, their game revolving abound simply being stronger, faster, and more aggressive than their opponents. If the fencing student is being trained properly, he will eventually integrate basic strategies and tactics into his process. This is a step up in fencing’s evolutionary development, but it is still a fairly mechanical pursuit until the brain is fully engaged.

To be a superior fencer,  one’s development must go beyond these obvious martial attributes. A well-rounded fencer should have an understanding of human psychology, and this must pertain to  his own mental workings as well as others. This is where fencing takes on new meanings, as each individual encountered becomes a distinct entity to be overcome. Now, strategy becomes a more creative and flexible endeavor. As the fencer gains more control over himself -- his thoughts and his actions – he gains more control over his opponent. Judgment, uncolored by emotional imbalance, is enhanced. Actions are geared to what is truly happening with an opponent, instead of being haphazard and  sometimes unstable expressions. In the end, fencing, like all meaningful activities in life, becomes an on purpose proposition. This is where fencing gains the depth that is hinted at in the writings of the great masters. Moreover, it should be obvious that in gaining these inner skills, the fencer transforms himself beyond the fencing strip. Balance, judgment, discernment, and self-control become part of one’s approach to everyday life.  Conclusion: fencing, in its traditional form, with its demands for inner human qualities, gives us a template for what might be best described as life skills.  

Antithesis

As athletic as sport fencing is, when I see photos and videos of the quick-draw matches, the off-balance, toe-to-toe poking and whacking, and the childish outbursts of anger in defeat and the boorish displays of “superiority” in victory, it is plain that the fencing touted by the USFA and the FIE is just a game, as shallow in intent and outcome as the latest popular video game. But what can be expected in a pursuit where outcome is dictated by whim of rule and intimidation of officials, as it is clearly demonstrated on fencing strips around the world every day? The powers-that-be can romanticize what transpires, ignoring, for instance, the reality of the multitude of interpretations of priority. They can laud the efforts of their “champions.” But they only fool themselves. The gyrations performed are only a shallow parody of fencing, and the new race of fenceletes are typical modern athletic stock: egocentric, selfish, and childish.

I  have encountered many of this type over the last thirty or so years. Fencing begins and ends with them. They have little understanding of the inner-workings of fencing as it has existed for centuries, nor, apparently, do they care to. There is no logic or variety in their game, which is a purely physical encounter. In many cases, such as in saber, fencing has devolved into a kind of “quick draw,” followed by a reflexive turn to the scoring box to find who will be rewarded with the flashing light and who will not. A winner may perform some sort of exaggerated victory performance; the loser might let fly with an angry toss of weapon or mask. This kind of fencing has no purpose beyond the “reward.” There is no learning, no growth. It is basically a vehicle for the ego to express itself. Personally, I can live without this kind of fencing and this kind of human being. I am embarrassed to think that I might be associated with these fencers in any way. One might ask what kind of life skills are being taught in an irrational, ego-oriented fencing? Sadly, they often mirror what is ugly and repugnant in present day society.

 Traditional Fencing

I am not saying that the traditional game of fencing has not bred its share of ego maniacs and jerks over the centuries, but there was a time when the fencing establishment chose not to make these individuals their heroes. I grew up in a fencing world that still held within its precepts the idea that fencing offered more than a place to vent one’s poor behavior. Within the confines of tradition, mastery, and human interaction, a kind of world view was forged, where, as I noted earlier, the fencer had an opportunity to grow as a human being as well. Believe it or not, fencing was seen to benefit the person, as opposed to the other way around.

 Fencers Behaving Badly

Back in the 1970s, I was at a tournament where one fencer, having lost a decisive bout, threw his mask across a gym in a fit of anger and hit a bystander. His coach immediately hauled him in front of those present, made him apologize to everyone, and then publicly disowned him as a student. I believe the fencer was banned from the  Amateur Fencers League of America (as the USFA was once called) for a year.

These days, bad behavior is so common, in many cases it merely warrants warnings. I have known young fencers, reared in this new atmosphere, who seemed to believe that fencing did not exist before they decided to honor it with their presence. The fact that few fencers salute or shake hands after bouts is sad because, as unimportant as such actions might seem to many, they actually take the fencer outside himself, requiring him to acknowledge the value of others. To ignore tradition reveals a lack of respect for fencing and other fencers.

It is regrettable that modern fencing is so bereft of true meaning that the pursuit of it no longer imparts personal enlightenment. This happens when “champions” are employed to define meaning of sport.  When messengers become the message, the real message is always lost. As far back as the 1700s, the likes of Domenico Angelo saw the merits of following fencing’s path. He understood that discipline and mastery led to personal growth. It was called nobility of spirit, which is probably old-fashioned and useless by modern standards. Today, being a champion leads to commercial endorsements and financial gain. I am not against making money, but as Ebenezer Scrooge found out one Christmas, life is made up of more than dollars.

Values

I should point out right here – before someone else says otherwise -- that I am not a moralist. Nor do I hold myself up as a paragon of virtue. Also, I do not consider myself the center of the universe. I can be cranky, and sometimes selfish. I do not always make the best choices in my life. But I know pretty quickly when I screw up, and I do my best to learn from my mistakes. Fencing has done a lot to improve my take on life. Life is not about being perfect, but shooting for the best we can be. That way, we can at least transcend the present. I would hate to think I had learned nothing in sixty-five years of life.

A Life Question

Once, my wife asked me when I knew I was a good fencer. This was probably the most difficult question I had ever been asked about fencing, and I sat for a long time with my mouth open. I came up with a number of predictable, mundane answers: when I won medals in tournaments, when I beat my opponents regularly, when my master chose me to be his assistant. I knew these all said something about me, but they were not the answer to the question. Finally, with a lot of brain squeezing, I came up with the answer: when what I was doing on the fencing strip was on purpose.  Isn’t this supposed to be true of our lives as well?

 Teaching

Overall, I teach to keep the art and science I was taught alive and healthy. This is especially important in a world where the fencing alternative is a thing without art or science, a mechanistic ritual that requires technology to fortify its inherent weaknesses.  Traditional fencing, as it has been pointed out, is a human skill that imparts much to the individual. It is important to keep such things of value from fading away into nothing. It doesn’t take long, in an atmosphere of ignorance, for valuable abilities -- abilities that underscore our humanity -- to be lost. I believe that every skill we lose, every skill we relinquish to technology, makes us a little less human. At the very least, it makes us less capable human beings. We have to pass on our information!

Beyond that, I teach what I teach because I think it makes a positive difference in my students’ lives. In their mastery of fencing, they gain a view of what is possible in the world. Fencing seems like such an insurmountable problem when we begin, and then, one day, through much expended effort, we find ourselves actually doing what we once only imagined. Not only does the student gain self-confidence and a more positive picture of themselves, but they also learn the value of persevering.

As to be expected, not every student who starts taking lessons continues with fencing. I have worked with literally thousands of students in the years that I have been teaching, but I think it would be safe to say that the vast majority no longer fence. This is just the way of the world. You hope everyone who comes to you will become a lifelong fencer, but it just doesn’t happen that way. Your next hope is that you can enrich the student’s life while they are with you, that something you say sticks with them. This is more reasonable.

I received a letter from a former student a while back that helps to illustrate why I teach:

 Maestro,

         I am a former student of yours from Los Angles prior to your moving back East.  I cannot tell you how much fun I had and what a great job you did as an instructor. As a kid from East LA riding the bus to your studio, I was often teased and ridiculed by my friends and neighborhood kids, but once at your studio none of that mattered, and it was  all well worth it. I continued to fence for about a year after you left, but eventually hung up my foil because of other obligations. I cannot  wait for my kids to be old enough so I can tell them about the sport and get them into it. I want to thank you for being a great teacher and part of the wonderful memories of my youth.

         I hope you remember me.  I was a young Latino kid that would come from East LA to fence. Today, I am the regional consultant for the California State Health Department in the Central Valley. I am at a point where I’ll be in graduate school for epidemiology or law school this summer and will decide within the next few month. In the meantime,  I think it’s time to get back into fencing. Thanks again for the positive experience!

I would rather receive a letter like this than have a dozen students winning medals. Why? Because this is about life. This is where fencing impacts the real world. This is about life skills learned!

Champions?

This raises another question: do I want my students to become champions? Yes and no. I want them to strive to be the best they can be on the fencing strip and in life. I want them to be honest and truthful. I want them to be understanding of themselves and of others. I want them to be balanced  individuals. As for winning, winning is something to strive for. No one takes up fencing as a way to continually experience losing. That would be dumb and somewhat weird. Obviously, wanting to win is a good thing; it implies a desire for excellence and mastery. I teach my students, then, a process by which they can develop those skills that will maximize their possibilities for fencing success throughout their lives. If they seek to become champions, I give them the vehicle to achieve this goal.  But I do not put becoming a champion above all else in life, and I am leery of those that do.

Anyway, this is why I teach. 

 On Becoming an Anachronism

 By Nick Evangelista

I have spent the last forty-five years of my life becoming an anachronism. Webster’s New World Dictionary defines an anachronism as, “Anything that is or seems to be out of its proper time in history.” I am a fencing master. Fencing is the passion of my life. Fencing is my reality, my truth. I’d rather fence than eat. Fencing, in one form or another, has been the focal point of my existence for over two thirds of my life. But, for all that, swords are not part of our everyday accessories (unless we live in the Highlander world). Swords are part of humankind’s days of yore. That puts me strikingly out of sync with modernity.

Being an anachronism, then, comes with the territory in fencing. I teach an ancient art and science, grounded in needs that are no longer part of the human condition. Fencing is from another time, another place, another everything. Imagine a mist covered field in Louis the XIV’s France, two swordsmen coming on guard in a duel to the death, their seconds standing by in watchful anticipation; or maybe a shadowy eighteenth century London alleyway, swords flashing in the dim lantern light as one man desperately fends off two masked robbers. These are the things we conjure up when we think of sword fighting, not the glass, steel, and concrete sterility of the 21st century. Fencing’s purpose, once upon a time, was to allow men to kill one another efficiently with swords. To hit and not be hit, is the age-old premise of fencing. But people don’t need swords today to kill one another. We have guns, cars, drugs, designer germs, and  bombs. We are so much more civilized than the denizens of past ages.

So, why have I devoted my life to such a seemingly useless activity? Why would anyone in their right mind pick something like fencing to base a life on? Why not choose to be a doctor, a mechanic, a greeter at Wal-Mart, or a politician?

For myself, I think I was born with the image of fencing in my brain. As far back as I can remember, there was the siren’s whisper of the sword beckoning me. I just knew that one day I would learn to fence. Where did that come from? Some people would say it was a calling. Others might defer to reincarnation. Some dower types dressed all in black might mutter, fate, fate, fate. Others, less kind, have suggested what I do is simply a bizarre compulsion, fixable through medication. I just say, ok. Fencing is part of me, inside of me. It’s what I do, who I am. My grandmother once asked me, “When are you going to learn it all so you don’t have to go back anymore?” She was very supportive.

But, beyond that--beyond being guided by Satan, or having a problem with substance abuse--what is it about fencing that attracts and never lets go of those who get bitten by the urge to participate in this relic of the past? A fencer might fence for sixty years, and never tire of it. Sometimes only death separates us from the art. My own master taught fencing until two weeks before he died, at the age of ninety-five and a half. I plan to be the first 100 year old practicing fencing master. I only have thirty-four years and eleven months to go.

So, again, back my initial the question: Why? Why fencing?

I would suggest, to begin with, superficially, perhaps, there is the romance of it all. Romance! We have it in us to see life through our heart. Fencing hits on an emotional level that drives us beyond thought. Some fencers are born romantics, searching for a link with a past full of heroes and brave deeds. In a way, fencing turns us into time travelers. Thoughts of musketeers and knights circulate through fencing brains like blood through arteries.

Too, there are traditions in fencing that tie us to an age-old brotherhood that spans the ages. This is a strong lure: to belong. It is where many fencing students begin their quest. Some might call it an escape from the present, but I think of it more as embracing an enriching ancient legacy. The day I first came across fencing equipment in the back of an old sporting goods store in Hollywood, California, in 1969, I felt I had found an incredible treasure. Actually, I had.

Then, there is the exciting physical reality of fencing, its insistent antagonistic challenge to our physical nature and our inner feelings. From day one, fencing immediately questions our bodily and psychological limitations. We know intellectually that these weapons we hold in our hand are harmless; but emotionally, we have much to overcome on the fencing piste. In the heat of combat, we may forget those behavioral parameters we seek to observe, and plunge headlong into fear and mindless reaction. This is a weakness that becomes predicable and exploitable. To gain control over knee-jerk impulses and to operate with measured efficiency and judgment, to be on purpose under fire, to make the sword—in the guise of a foil, epee, or sabre--a living extension of ourselves, is our goal. First, we learn to control us; then we learn to control our opponents. That is the order of our mastery. Within designated limits – there is implied violence, but no one is hurt, no one dies – we seek to uncover what is best in ourselves on many levels. Fencing is a vehicle to this end.

We understand the outcome of our reactions and responses against one idea: what if these weapons were sharp? There is a Latin saying that pertains to fencing: In ferro veritas, which, simply put, means, “In the sword is truth.” You find out much about yourself, and others, on the fencing strip. Aldo Nadi, one of the great fencers of the early 20th century, once observed, “The fencing strip is the mirror of our soul.” If ever there was a gauge to measure human possibilities, like a thermometer reads temperatures, fencing would be that device. There is much satisfaction in the crystal clear perceptions fencing brings to the fencer, of understanding, of doing, of accomplishing when the situation demands it. There are moments of excellence one never forgets.  It is our ultimate goal to make ourselves the weapon. To be aware on the fencing strip is to be aware in the world.

Fencing has been nicknamed Physical Chess. In the simplest way, this translates into focused thought being acted upon assertively. Fencing is an obvious display of motor responses, and this is what impresses people; and yet, ironically, it is the mind game that endures and sustains the fencer over time. Even as age diminishes physicality, a trained fencing brain can continue to map out an effective approach to even the most adamant opposition. This keeps fencing accessible late into life to those who think. I am a better fencer now than I was at twenty-five. I have learned to out-think my opponents, rather than meet them on their own, generally physical, terms. The opportunity to remain continually relevant and competitive in a culture that is decidedly youth oriented is, I think, one of fencing’s greatest benefits.

I began fencing as an awkward kid, the same as thousands of other fencing students stretching back over lifetimes. I was nothing special. I showed no genius. I was not a born fencer. But I applied myself. I invested more of myself into fencing than the average student, so I reaped a greater return. If I had any genius in me, it was for patience and perseverance. You can learn a lot in forty-five years. Now, I teach others to fence. This was not a conscious plan. Like most of those experiences in my fencing life that have given me direction, the opportunity to train others was a gift. I do not question this. If we question gifts too long, sometimes they go away.

Fencing has given me a living. It has brought me recognition in the world. It has expanded my brain and colored my personality. It has also brought me companionship of the best kind. What else might fencing be for? That ends up being part of the personal journey every fencing student embarks on.

So, is it worth becoming an anachronism?

For me, it has been, and always will be.

No Heroes

By Nick Evangelista

I have no heroes.

It would be easy to say something like, “Oh, Mother Teresa was an inspiration to me!” or “I have based my life on the teachings of Woodrow Wilson.” But defining your life by some other person is the easy way out. I admire people, but I don’t put them on pedestals.  I appreciate individuality and creativity and the heroic endeavor. But I wouldn’t want to be anyone but myself.

I have always felt that we should be our own heroes, to follow our own unique paths, and really live our own lives, to say, I did that! We can’t be other people, and we can’t live our lives through others. Too many people try to do that today. We get caught up in the Cult of Celebrity, famous people we both love and resent at the same time.  I can’t imagine following the daily in’s and out’s of any well-known person, who's cheating on whom, who's getting a new tattoo.  I have known a couple famous people in my life, and, for the most part, they were just people.

Much better to experience and explore our own lives fully. This can be scary, of course. Life leaves bruises. We make mistakes. We leave skid marks on the pavement. But we get up, and move ahead. The Ancient Romans had a saying, Magnae res non fiunt sine periculo, “Great things are not accomplished without danger.” This is a challenge to come out swinging. A life brimming with passion and experience is the truest testament to being alive.

I have found fencing to be my life’s passion, and everything in my life, good and bad, has come out of this. There is nothing we can do that doesn’t have its built-in pitfalls. But to do, to test ourselves, to learn, to become more than we were when we came into the world, that is something.

 Learn a skill.

 Travel.

 Save a life.

Stand for an honorable cause.

Write a book that changes the world.

Love someone who will stay in your heart forever.

Take chances.

In the end, our life’s experiences are the only things we truly possess. Everything else is just stuff. Stuff comes and goes. Museums are full of other people’s stuff.

Do not go quietly into the night.

Be your own hero. 

The Fire: A Story

By Nick Evangelista

There once was a young, aspiring fencer who had an opportunity to demonstrate his skill before a renowned maestro. Giving his fencing his most heartfelt effort for over an hour, the young man paused at last for the master’s hoped-for approval.

“Well, how was I?” he implored. “Was I good?” If he was given the encouragement he desired, he would dedicate his life to fencing. In time, he hoped to become a great competitor, a national champion, maybe even an Olympian.

The old man, who had sat quietly and impassively during the bout, looked squarely at the novice swordsman and, with a shrug, announced, “You lack the fire.”

The fencer was crestfallen. He rushed away, sold his equipment, and immediately found employment with a large corporation. He forgot about fencing.

A number of years later, the former fencer, now the president of his own successful company, ran into the very old fencing master at a society function.

“You changed my life,” the businessman declared. “I was crushed when you told me I’d never fulfill my life’s ambition in fencing, but I finally accepted it. Today, because of what you said to me, I am a man of business instead of a man of the sword. But tell me, Maestro, how could you tell so easily and quickly that I lacked the fire?”

“Oh, I hardly watched your fencing,” the venerable master explained. “That’s what I say to everyone who fences for me—that they lack the fire.”

The businessman staggered back, barely able to comprehend what he’d just heard. “What?  How could you do that to me?  Perhaps I could have been a great champion, a master, one of the luminaries of the fencing world.”

The old man shook his head.

“You don’t understand. If you’d had the fire, really had it, so that it burned inside you with an unquenchable passion, you would have paid no attention to what I said to you. You’d have stuck with fencing, no matter what. You’d have proven me wrong. But you gave up the first time your dream was challenged. You, young man, answered your own question.”

“Oh,” said the former fencer.

The secret of all success is now before you.

The Nature of Fencing Tournaments

By Nick Evangelista

Whenever I stage a fencing tournament for my students, I always hope that they will see these events, not as a proving ground, but as a learning ground. To me, there is no reason for such events beyond expanding our understanding of fencing, of ourselves, and of others. You fence to dominate others? You fence for glory? Winning medals and trophies is transitory, simply marking moments in time.  Learning, however, takes us through our days, and hopefully enriches our lives. Having fenced for almost fifty years, I can say that I have fenced, not to be a champion—although I have had champion moments—but to be the best fencer I could be. This has made me, I hope, a better fencer, a better teacher, and, just maybe, a better me. It is no wonder fencing has been described, quite rightly, as a life skill. Just the same, this concept of enrichment doesn’t always come to pass among fencers. I have met a number of fencing champions and fencing masters over the years who were, simply put, at best, egos with arms and legs, at worst, assholes. They obviously opted for another destination than the one I chose for myself. As for medals, I display mine at the farthest end of my fencing room, away from the action. They aren’t meant to impress anyone.  I feel sorry for those who get fixated on winning and losing and the artifacts of said results, because this makes them blind to the real value of fencing. I’m not saying that winning is in any way bad. I do believe we should always strive to do our best in any situation; but, if winning is sometimes not an option, not winning can teach us lessons for improvement that winning obscures. Truly, it is how we handle these moments that defines us as individuals.  But, beyond this, underscoring all else, it is the simple act of doing that counts most. In a world teeming with fantasy and inertia, doing, having done, becomes the true testament of our being. This is what my tournaments are all about. This is what fencing should be all about. And this is what life really is all about.